The trap was about to snap shut on both of them.
Chapter Forty-One
LUTHER LAVALLE waited on tenterhooks for the call from his extraction team leader in Munich. He sat in his customary chair facing the window that looked out over the rolling lawns to the left of the wide gravel drive, which wound through the elms and oaks lining it like sentinels. Having verbally put her in her place after returning from his office, he contrived to ignore Soraya Moore and Willard who, after the second time, had given up asking him if he wanted his single-malt scotch refreshed. He didn't want his single-malt scotch refreshed and he didn't want to hear another word from the Moore woman. What he wanted was his cell phone to ring, for his team leader to tell him that Jason Bourne was in custody. That's all he required of this day; he didn't think it was too much to ask.
Nevertheless, it was true that his nerves were pulled tighter than a drawn bowstring. He found himself wanting to scream, to punch someone; he'd almost launched himself like a missile at Willard when the steward had approached him the last time-he was so damn servile. Beside him, the Moore woman sat, one leg crossed over her knee, sipping her damnable Ceylon tea. How could she be so calm!
He reached over, slapped the cup and saucer out of her hands. They bounced on the thick carpet, along with what was left of the espresso, but they didn't break. He jumped up, stomped the china beneath his heel until it cracked and cracked again. Aware of Soraya staring up at him, he snapped, "What? What are you looking at?"
His cell phone buzzed and he snatched it off the table. His heart lifted, a smile of triumph wreathed his face. But it was a guard at the front gate, not the leader of his extraction team.
"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you," the guard said, "but the director of Central Intelligence is here."
"What?" LaValle fairly shouted his response. He was flooded with bitter disappointment. "Keep her the fuck out!"
"I'm afraid that's not possible, sir."
"Of course it's possible." He moved to the window. "I'm giving you a direct order!"
"She's with a contingent of federal marshals," the guard said. "They're already on their way to the main house."
It was true, LaValle could see the convoy making its way up the drive. He stood, speechless with confusion and fury. How dare the DCI invade his private sanctuary! He'd have her in prison for this outrage!
He started, feeling someone standing next to him. It was Soraya Moore. Her wide lips were curled in an enigmatic smile.
Then she turned to him and said, "I do believe it's the end of days."
The maelstrom closed around Bourne and Moira. What had once been a simple demonstration was now a full-blown melee. He heard screams and shouts, hurled invective, and then, under it all, the familiar high-low wail of police sirens approaching from several different directions. Bourne was quite certain the NSA hit squad had no desire to run afoul of the Munich police; it was therefore running out of time. The agent near Bourne heard the sirens, too, and with his hands clearly still half numb from the bat grabbed Moira around the throat.
"Drop the bat and come with me, Bourne," he said against the rising tide of screams and shouts, "or so help me I'll break her neck like a twig."
Bourne dropped the bat but, as he did so, Moira bit into the agent's hand. Bourne drove his fist into the soft spot just below his sternum then, taking hold of his wrist, he turned over the arm at an awkward angle, and with a sharp blow broke the agent's elbow. The agent groaned, went to his knees.
Bourne dug out his passport and earbud, threw the passport to Moira as he fitted the electronic bud into his ear canal.
"Name," he said.
Moira already had the wallet open. "William K. Saunders."
"This is Saunders," Bourne said, addressing the wireless network. "Bourne and the girl are getting away. They're heading north by northwest past the pagoda."
Then he took her hand. "Biting his hand," he said as they stepped over the fallen agent. "That was quite a professional move."
She laughed. "It did the trick, didn't it?"
They made their way through the mob, heading southeast. Behind them, the NSA agents were shoving their way toward the opposite side of the mass of people. Ahead, a corps of uniformed policemen